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I  A85 
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IRLF 


3b    MOM 


RN  OLD  VIRGINIK 

PUKNTATION  STORV 


MRRGSRETJ.PRESTOH 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


AUNT    DOROTHY 


AUNT  DOROTHY 


AN 


©to  Firginia 


BY 


MARGARET  J.   PRESTON 

AUTHOR   OF   OLD   SONG   AND    NEW,  CARTOONS,    FOR    LOVE'S   SAKE, 
MONOGRAPHS,  COLONIAL    BALLADS,  ETC. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY  G.  F-R. 


NEW    YORK 
ANSON   D.   F.   RANDOLPH    AND    CO. 

38  WEST  TWENTY -THIRD  STREET 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1890, 
BY  ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  AND  Co, 


JHnfbergttg  fhress: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MISTRESS  DOROTHY  CLAYBORNE     .    Frontispiece 

"  I  'S  GWINE  READ  FOH  YO?  BEN'FIT  "  .    .     .  14 

AUNT  ZINKIE 19 

AUNT  ANNEKY 31 

HER  AUNT'S  EASY-CHAIR 46 

IN  THE  OLD-FASHIONED  GARDEN    ....  53 

CHINQUAPIN  JOE     .    .    .    .    , -..    .    .    »    .  62 

UNCLE  DAN'EL .-  .    .  73 

LANDSCAPE 81 

THE  CULPEPPER  CHAIR 90 


Repi'inted  from  Harper's  Magazine  by  permission 
of  the  Publishers. 


AUNT  DOROTHY. 


I. 


WOT  yo'  'pinion  now,  Marse  Doctah  ? 
Ar'  ole  Mis'  gwine  die  ? " 

"She's  mighty  ill,  Uncle  Reuben,  and 
I  advise  all  you  good  people  on  the  plan- 
tation to  get  together  and  pray  for  her 
to-night." 

"  Dat  we  will,  sah,  foh  she  's  ben  a  mon'- 
sus  good  mistis  ter  all  we-uns.  I  dunno 
wot  '11  come  ob  de  ole  plantashun  ef  Mistis 
be  took  'way.  Yo'  knows  she  's  ben  man- 
agin'  heah  ebber  sence  ole  Marse'  deff,  an' 
clat  leas'  dozen  yeah  back  ;  foh  I  mines 
dat  Chinquapin  Joe  warn't  bo'n  tell  some 
time  'fore  de  nex'  chinquapin  seas'n,  an' 
Chinquapin  Joe,  he  be  mos'  'lebben.  Hit 
war  bad  'nuff  wen  ole  Marse  went,  an'  lef 


8  Aunt  Dorothy. 

dis  gre't  big  plantashun  'dout  a  head.  But 
um!  Marse  Doctah,  we  knowed  ole  Mis' 
'ud  manage  mighty  well ;  foh  we  allers 
'lowed  ('hine  backs,  yo'  knows)  dat  ef  she 
did  n't  pint'ly  manage  de  plantashun,  she 
manage  ole  Marse,  an'  dat  'bout  de  same 
ting.  But  hit  '11  clean  upset  we-alls,  ef 
she  go  ;  foh  young  Marse  Lucien,  he  ben 
'way  so  much,  an'  jes  lub  books  onnyhow, 
an'  no  'count  foh  managin'  de  people ;  leas' - 
wise,  his  ma,  she  nebber  let  him  try," 

"  Well,  Uncle  Reuben,"  said  Dr.  Brune, 
gathering  up  his  horse's  rein,  "  you  must 
all  get  together  to-night,  and  see  what 
prayer  can  effect ;  for  I  've  done  all  I  can, 
and  it  will  just  be  as  God  wills.  You  be- 
lieve in  prayer,  Uncle  Reuben  ? " 

"  B'lieve  in  pra'r,  sah?  I  doos  —  in  peace. 
Yo'  mines  dat  time  Shad  dun  got  drown  ? 
Ef  we  ain'  pray  dat  night,  'Postle  Poll 
hisse'f  nebber  dun  hit.  An'  yo'  knows 
yo'  dun  brung  him  ter  life  jes  de  minute 
pra'r-meetin'  war  ober !  " 

"  Maybe  Aunt  Zinkie's  rubbing  and  hot 


Aunt  Dorothy.  9 

blankets  had  something  to  do  with  that; 
but  anyhow,  it  won't  hurt  you  folks  to  try 
what  prayer  can  do." 

The  doctor  cantered  down  the  broad 
avenue,  and  Uncle  Reuben  walked  off 
sadly  in  the  direction  of  the  quarters. 

The  showery  April  evening  was  closing 
in,  and  through  .the  rifts  of  broken  cloud, 
long  rays  of  light  were  slanting  over  the 
lawn  at  Hazlecroft.  The  tender  green  of 
early  spring  was  on  the  grass  ;  and  the  old 
broad-girthed  oaks  —  relics  of  the  primeval 
forest  —  were  soft  with  freshening  foliage. 
The  hazel  hedges  that  bordered  the  wide 
grounds  were  gay  with  catkins  and  shin- 
ing leaves  that  twinkled  in  the  watery 
light,  and  the  dogwood  and  Judas-tree 
mingled  their  white  and  purple  blooms  to- 
gether in  a  great  clump  near  the  carriage 
gate. 

But  Uncle  Reuben  saw  none  of  the 
beauty  of  the  evening,  and  concerned  him- 
self little  about  the  rich  opening  of  the 
season.  His  mind  was  filled  with  the  dig- 


io  Aunt  Dorothy. 

nity  and  solemnity  of  his  position  at  the 
present  moment ;  for  he  held  the  office  of 
preacher  among  the  "  people  "  of  the  plan- 
tation, and  he  duly  felt  the  responsibility 
of  the  obligation  which  Dr.  Brune  had  just 
suggested  as  resting  upon  him. 

Mistress  Dorothy  Clayborne.  the  owner 
of  the  broad  plantation  of-  Hazlecroft,  the 
energetic,  high-spirited,  and  strong-tem- 
pered manager  of  the  hundred  black  peo- 
ple whose  destinies  Providence  had  put 
into  her  guiding  hand,  —  the  Lady  Boun- 
tiful of  the  whole  region,  and  the  liberal- 
minded  supporter  of  the  church  and  all 
good  charities  in  her  neighborhood,  —  lay 
apparently  on  her  death-bed.  Dr.  Brune 
had  said  that  his  skill  could  avail  nothing 
more,  and  Uncle  Reuben  felt  the  grave 
importance  of  the  duty x which  the  doctor 
seemed  to  have  imposed  upon  him,  namely, 
that  of  getting  the  people  together  and 
offering  up  special  petitions  for  her  life. 

"  Mammy,"  he  said,  as  he  joined  his 
wife,  who  had  been  watching  his  colloquy 


Aunt  Dorothy.  n 

with  the  doctor  from  her  cabin  door,  "  cl'ar 
up,  an'  hab  suppah  ober  in  no  time.  Dr. 
Brune,  he  say  ole  Mis'  mighty  low.  He 
'low  physic  jes  dun  all  hit  ken  ;  an'  he  say 
de  bestes'  ting  we-uns  ken  do  now  ar'  ter 
pray  ;  so  yo'  heah  ;  gib  de  chillen  dey  sup- 
pah  stre't  off.  Meek  Shad  an'  Mess  an' 
Chinquapin  Joe  brung  cheers  from  Aunt 
Viney's  an'  de  folks  'roun',  while  I 's  gwine 
gib  notice  dat  dar  '11  be  'spress  pra'r  heah 
at  sebben  'clock,  ter  'treat  de  Lord  foh  ole 
Mis'  life ;  foh  I  tells  yo',  accordin',  ole 
'ooman,  times  gwine  pinted  hard  wid  we, 
ef  ole  Mis'  be  took." 

Aunt  Zinkie  lifted  her  hands  in  depre- 
cation at  the  idea;  for  although  Mrs.  Clay- 
borne  was  a  somewhat  rigid  mistress,  and 
held  her  servants  well  up  to  their  duty, 
she  was  such  a  kind  one  that  they  well 
knew  she  had  their  interests  as  much  at 
heart  as  her  own.  Aunt  Zinkie  was  often 
heard  to  say,  "  When  we  bodders  ole  Mis' 
tur'bly,  ole  Mis',  she  say  she  hate  we-uns, 
an'  wish  we-uns  'ud  run  off.  Ole  Mis'  ain' 


i2  Aunt  Dorothy. 

hate  we-uns  'tall.  Ain'  she  set  up  harf 
de  night  wid  some  leetle  pickaninny  wot 
got  de  croup,  'kase  she  feared  he  mammy 
'gleet  ter  gib  him  de  physic  right  ?  Nun- 
no  !  ole  Mis',  she  ain'  hate  we-uns  'tall." 

With  all  her  gift  for  management  and 
discipline,  Mrs.  Clayborne's  nature  had 
its  comical  side.  She  had  a  genius  for 
laughter,  and  that  of  the  most  contagious 
kind.  Often  when  administering  a  re- 
proof she  would  turn  aside  to  some  by- 
stander with  her  face  all  crumpled  up, 
and  her  short,  stout  little  figure  shaking 
all  over,  from  her  easily  aroused  risibility, 
so  that  the  silent  shaking  of  the  sup- 
pressed laughter  generally  proved  a  salve 
to  the  sharp  word  or  the  tickle  of  the  little 
ivory  whip. 

"  De  lamps  all  lit  up  at  de  big  house," 
cried  Chinquapin  Joe  ;  "  time  foh  de  pray- 
in'  ter  begin.  Mammy,  all  de  folks  be 
cominV  And  the  boy  hopped  briskly 
over  the  rows  of  split-bottom  chairs  ar- 
ranged for  them  in  Aunt  Zinkie's  cabin. 


Aunt  Dorothy.  13 

"  Yo'  teck  dat,"  said  Aunt  Zinkie,  giving 
Chinquapin  Joe  the  weight  of  her  heavy 
hand  on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  jerking 
him  off  the  chair,  —  "yo'  teck  dat,  an'  creep 
in  de  corner  yander,  an'  kep  yo'se'f  quiet, 
or  I  '11  hab  de  wool  off  yo'  head." 

Chinquapin  Joe  beckoned  to  his  broth- 
ers :  "  Shad,  Mess,  an'  Bedego,  we  's  gwine 
pray ;  come  in  an*  git  yo'se'ves  fix,  'fo' 
mammy  skin  ebbery  niggah  ob  yo'  cl'ar 
ter  de  bone  !  " 

The  three  shiny-faced  young  imps  forth- 
with sprang  in,  jumping  over  the  chairs, 
and  each  getting  a  clip  from  Aunt  Zinkie 
as  he  passed  on  to  the  corner,  where  they 
ensconced  themselves. 

The  dark  faces  of  the  "field  hands" 
looked  long  and  solemn  as  they  gathered 
round  Uncle  Reuben  and  listened  to  his 
accounts  of  the  old  mistress,  who  lay  dy- 
ing, as  he  proceeded  to  inform  them,  up 
at  the  big  house. 

"  She  dun  ben  a  good  mistis  ter  all  we," 
he  said,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  as  he 


Aunt  Dorothy.  15 

opened  a  large  Testament  and  fumbled 
the  leaves  to  hunt  something  suitable 
for  the  occasion,  —  "she  dun  ben  a  good 
mistis  — 

"  'Cept  wen  she  tickle  we  wid  de  tail 
ob  her  white  cat,"  muttered  Chinquapin 
Joe,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  all  pres- 
ent. Aunt  Zinkie  gave  him  a  gouge  with 
the  toe  of  her  big  corn-field  shoe,  and 
Uncle  Reuben  went  on  :  — 

"  I 's  gwine  read  foh  yo'  ben'fit,  breaden 
an'  sisten,  suffin'  fittin'  dis  'casion";  and 
he  turned  about  his  well-worn  Testament 
for  a  considerable  time  before  he  hit  upon 
St.  John's  account  of  the  marriage  feast 
at  Cana.  His  young  master  Lucien  had 
taught  him  to  read;  but  he  had  been  no 
apt  scholar,  and  his  mistakes  would  have 
set  any  other  audience  to  tittering.  It  did 
bring  out  an  exclamation  from  Chinquapin 
Joe,  the  most  irrepressible  of  all  the  young 
negroes:  "  Hi,  Mess!  she  wa'n't  no  tem- 
p'ance  lady,  war  she  ? "  A  thump  on  the 
head  from  Aunt  Zinkie's  rough  hand  made 


1 6  Aunt  Dorothy. 

Joe  collapse  for  a  time.  When  the  reading 
was  over,  "  Bruddah  Dan'el "  was  asked 
"  ter  lead  in  pra'r,"  but  the  latter  excused 
himself :  — 

"  Bruddah  Reuben,  I  dun  ben  hollerin' 
at  de  oxes  all  day;  dey's  so  contrary  dat 
I 's  hoa'se  as  one  ob  de  ma'sh  frogs.  Yo' 
jes  hitch  up  yo'se'f." 

This  was  the  invitation  Uncle  Reuben 
wanted ;  for,  being  a  conceited  soul,  he 
was  entirely  of  the  opinion  that  he  was 
the  only  "  culled  pusson  on  de  plantashun 
wot  possessed  de  gif  ob  pra'r."  His  peti- 
tions at  least  had  the  quality  of  sincerity 
and  earnestness,  for  he  was  devotedly 
attached  to  his  mistress,  and  looked  upon 
her  as  his  best  earthly  friend. 

"  O  good  Lord,"  he  pleaded,  "  we  po' 
sinnahs  comes  ter  put  up  pra'r  foh  ole 
Mistis'  life.  Hit  ar'  jes  de  reason  we 
meets  at  dis  onusual  hour,  'kase  de  doctah, 
he  say  she  mighty  low.  We  needs  ole 
Mistis  heah,  good  Lord,  more'n  dey  needs 
her  up  in  hebben.  Dar  's  plenty  ob  angels 


Aunt  .Dorothy.  17 

up  dar,  an'  dey  would  n'  miss  her  gre'tly 
from  de  quire,  'kase  she  am'  no  v'ice  ter 
sing,  nohow.  She  offen  'low  she  nebber 
could  tu'n  a  chune,  eben  wen  she  hab 
pra'rs  wid  we  up  at  de  big  house.  ["Dat  's 
so,  dat  's  so,  good  Lord  !  "]  We  knows  de 
Lord  allers  wants  ter  meek  His  chillens 
happy,  an'  ole  Mistis,  she  nebber  could  be 
happy  'less  she  be  managin' ;  an'  dar'd  be 
no  managin'  foh  her  in  hebben,  'kase  so 
many  dar  hab  'sperience,  —  I  means  de  ole 
angels,  Lord,  who  ben  roun'  de  t'rone  so 
long,  an'  hab  larnt  all  de  hebbenly  ways. 
But  ole  Mistis,  she  be  like  a  young  han', 
an'  not  much  'count  dar.  De  Lord,  He 
know  dat  our  young  marstah  he  ain'  ussen 
ter  manage  de  people ;  he  dunno  'bout  de 
rations  an'  all  de  'fairs  ob  sech  big  plan- 
tashun  as  dis  ;  and  t'ings  'ud  git  mighty 
onruly.  .["  Dat 's  de  truf,  good  Lord  !  "] 
An'  Miss  Sibylla,  whar  be  de  house- 
keepah,  she  jes  drive  all  de  folks  mad, 
'kase  she  on'y  po'  white  trash,  an'  ain' 
on'erstan'  de  ways  ob  'spectable  people 


1 8  Aunt  Dorothy. 

like  we  is.  ["  No  mo'  she  ain',  O  Lord  !  "] 
An'  de  oberseer,  Marse  Rumple,  it  teck  all 
Mistis  strong  ban'  ter  kep  him  stre't;  an' 
ef  she  be  took,  de  plantashun  'ud  soon  be 
gwine  ter  de  dogs.  So  spar'  ole  Mistis, 
good  Lord  !  "  ["  Spar'  her,  spar'  her,  good 
Lord  ! "] 

The  prayer  went  on  for  a  considerably 
longer  time,  in  much  the  same  fashion, 
Uncle  Reuben  waxing  more  earnest  with 
each  petition  ;  and  the  perspiration  rolled 
from  his  black  forehead,  as  he  caught  his 
breath  in  negro  fashion,  till  he  was  well- 
nigh  choked.  Chinquapin  Joe  began  to 
think  there  had  been  enough  of  it,  and 
"  dat  de  Lord  war  mighty  hard  ter  move  ef 
He  ain'  pay  'tention  ter  all  dat  groanin' "  ; 
so  he  persuaded  Mess  and  Bedego  to  follow 
him  with  an  "  Amen,"  which  was  instantly 
taken  up  by  the  whole  audience,  who  held 
on  to  it  so  tenaciously  that  Uncle  Reuben 
accepted  it  as  a  signal  for  the  close  of  the 
service. 

As    soon   as    the   people    had   dispersed, 


Aunt  Dorothy.                     19 

Zinkie    set     upon  her     husband    rather 
sharply. 

"  Lor'  a  massy !  daddy,  wot   yo'  be  so 


AUNT    ZINKIE. 


onconsiderin'  as  ter  read  'bout  a  weddin' 
wen  we 's  got  a  fun'ral  on  han'  ? " 

"  Now,  ole  'ooman,  yo 's  got  no  sense 
'bout  t'ings  't  all.  Cyarn't  yo'  see  wich 
way  de  rabbit  jump?  Now,  'cordin'  ter 


20  Aunt  Dorothy. 

me  mine,  dat  lady,  eben  ef  she  war  de 
mudder  ob  de  Lord  Jesus,  war  mighty 
like  ole  Mis'.  She  war  a  managin'  sort 
o'  pusson  ;  foh  ain'  you  see  she  war  gwine 
'bout,  lookin'  inter  ebberyting  ?  an'  wen 
she  fine  dey  hab  no  wine,  she  meek  a  fuss 
'bout  hit,  jes  like  ole  Mis'.  Yo 's  punkin- 
headed,  Zinkie,  ef  yo'  ain'  see  de  p'int  ob 
dissemblance ! " 

But  Zinkie  stuck  to  it  that  she  did  n't 
think  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  read,  and 
Uncle  Reuben,  repeating  his  charge  of 
"  punkin-headedness,"  took  his  way  up  to 
the  big  house,  to  make  a  last  inquiry  about 
the  sick  mistress  before  he  should  go  to 
bed. 


II. 


COUSIN  LUCIEN,"  said  Annis  Fon- 
taine, as  she  entered  the  library, 
after  having  answered  the  inquiries  of 
Uncle  Reuben, — "  Cousin  Lucien,"  (and 
her  voice  grew  almost  too  tremulous  for 
audible  speech,)  "  Aunt  Dorothy  bids  me 
tell  you  that  she  wants  to  speak  with 
you." 

"  How  does  she  seem  now,  Annis  ? " 
asked  the  young  man,  anxiously,  as  he  laid 
down  the  book  he  had  been  reading. 

"  Very  faint  and  low,"  and  Annis's 
words  ended  in  a  sob  ;  but,  quickly  con- 
trolling herself,  she  went  on  to  say,  "  She 
thinks  she  has  not  more  than  sufficient 
strength  for  some  parting  directions  which 
she  wishes  to  leave  with  you." 

Lucien  Clayborne  started  up  with  a 
most  distressed  look  upon  his  face,  and 


22  Aunt  Dorothy. 

look  his  way  instantly  to  his  mother's 
sick-chamber.  A  bright  fire  burned  upon 
the  broad  old-fashioned  hearth,  though  it 
was  mid-April,  and  crouching  around  it 
were  two  or  three  of  the  oldest  house 
servants,  with  that  look  of  ashy  despair 
upon  their  faces  which  the  negro  counte- 
nance is  apt  to  assume  when  grief  or  ap- 
prehension overshadows  it.  Lucien  found 
the  old  maid-servant,  who  had  attended  his 
mother  ever  since  her  childhood,  vigorously 
fanning  her,  and,  coming  quietly  behind 
her,  withdrew  the  turkey-tail  fan  from  her 
hand. 

"  You  will  chill  your  mistress,  Aunt 
Anneky,"  he  whispered. 

"But  she  cyarn't  git  her  bref,  Marse 
Lucien ;  her  new-mony  's  very  bad." 

"  Did  the  doctor  say  that  fanning  was 
good  for  pneumonia  ?  " 

The  whispered  conversation  roused  the 
sick  woman,  and,  stretching  out  her  hand 
faintly  to  her  son,  she  asked,  "You  there, 
Lucien  ?  Bid  Anneky  leave  us  alone  for 


Aunt  Dorothy.  23 

a  little  ;  I  want  to  speak  with  you  while 
I  have  strength  to  do  so." 

The  servants  withdrew,  and  with  no 
small  difficulty  Mrs.  Clayborne  began  to 
speak,  at  first  in  scarcely  an  audible 
whisper. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  see  how  ill  I  am. 
Dr.  Brune  has  not  concealed  the  truth 
from  me ;  he  says  pneumonia  is  apt  to 
go  very  hard  with  a  person  of  my  years. 
It  was  a  great  mistake  to  remain  in  the 
dairy  so  long  that  damp  day.  But  if  it 
is  God's  will  to  call  me  away,  I  trust  I 
am  content  to  go." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  broke  in  Lucien,  kissing 
the  crimson  spot  on  her  wasted  cheek, 
and  pressing  her  thin  hand  between  both 
his  own,  "don't  talk  about  going  away; 
I  cannot  bear  it !  You  have  so  much 
vitality  about  you,  so  much  will,  and  God 
is  so  good,  I  cannot  think  you  are  going 
to  be  taken  from  us." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  go,  my  son  ;  but 
I  can  submit  if  it  is  the  Master's  bidding. 


24  Aunt  Dorothy. 

You  all  need  me  so  much  here  that  I  feel 
it  hard  to  drop  the  reins  from  my  hands." 

"  But,  my  darling  mother,"  said  Lu- 
cien,  his  self-restrained  and  reticent  na- 
ture stirred  to  unwonted  emotion  by  his 
mother's  words,  "  we  cannot  give  you 
up." 

"  Yes,  you  can,  my  dear.  It  is  not  in 
the  nature  of  a  Clayborne  to  make  any 
resistance  to  the  inevitable.  And  now," 
she  continued,  after  a  pause  for  breath, 
"  while  I  have  strength  to  speak,  let  me 
give  you  my  commands  about  the  planta- 
tion and  the  various  things  which  I  wish 
to  speak  of  before  I  go.  It  will  be  hard 
for  you,  who  have  been  at  school  and 
college  all  your  life,  to  take  up  the  burden 
of  management ;  but  I  know  you  will  do 
your  best."  And  she  tenderly  laid  her 
hand  on  the  head  that  was  bowed  beside 
her  on  the  pillow. 

"  Assuredly  I  will ;  but  do  not  trouble 
yourself,  mother  dear,  about  things  like 
these.  You  will  exhaust  the  little  strength 


Aunt  Dorothy.  25 

which    might    otherwise    avail    for    your 
recovery." 

"  But  I  could  not  rest  quietly  in  my 
grave,  Lucien,  if  I  did  not  do  something 
toward  helping  you  to  manage  after  I  am 
gone.  I  grieve  to  think  how  it  will  worry 
you  to  take  up  all  the  details  of  the  plan- 
tation, for  which  you  have  so  little  natural 
taste.  Therefore  it  is  that  I  give  you  my 
counsel.  I  think  it  would  be  better  for 
you  to  dismiss  Rumple.  He  has  been 
overseer  here  so  long  that  he  has  become 
rather  masterful ;  and  knowing  him  as  I 
do,  I  feel  that  he  might  take  advantage  of 
your  youth  and  inexperience.  A  kinder- 
natured  man,  too,  will  deal  better  with 
the  servants.  And  Miss  Sibylla,  my  dear, 
is  not  quite  the  housekeeper  that  can  get 
along  here  without  my  hand  to  direct  her. 
She  is  not  popular  with  the  house  ser- 
vants, and  that  don't  do.  Keep  Uncle 
Sharon  in  the  dining-room,  and  don't  let 
him  give  up  trying  to  make  a  good  under- 
waiter  of  Chinquapin  Joe.  There  is  a 


26  Aunt  Dorothy. 

great  deal  of  outcome  in  that  boy  if  he  is 
only  rightly  managed."  But  so  much  effort 
at  speech  had  exhausted  Mrs.  Clayborne, 
and  the  laboring  breath  came  painfully ; 
this  alarmed  her  son,  and  he  summoned 
Aunt  Anneky. 

" Jes  like  ole  Mistis !  She  gwine  man- 
age on  till  she  die,"  exclaimed  the  old 
servant,  in  an  undertone,  as  she  bathed 
her  mistress's  forehead,  and  held  some 
eau-de-Cologne  to  her  nostrils.  "  Marse 
Lucien,"  she  whispered,  turning  her  head 
to  speak  to  her  young  master,  "foh  de 
Lord  o'  goodness,  keep  yo'  ma  from  bod- 
derin'  her  life  out,  'rangin'  foh  her  own 
fun'ral ;  dar  '11  be  people  'nuff  ter  do  de 
managin'  w'en  she  be  took." 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Mrs. 
Clayborne  revived,  and  signified  her  abil- 
ity to  continue  the  conversation.  So,  dis- 
missing the  maid  with  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
she  began  to  speak  again  :  — 

"  I  think,  dear,  you  'd  better  have  the 
branch  bottoms  well  cleared  up  as  soon 


Aunt  Dorothy.  27 

as  the  corn  crop  is  off  the  ground.  The 
branch  was  so  swollen  by  the  spring 
freshet  that  a  great  deal  of  trash  was  left 
on  them.  Your  blessed  father  was  so  fond 
of  those  branch  bottoms,  and  for  his  sake 
I  have  always  tried  to  keep  them  in  very 
perfect  order.  I  am  sure,  too,  that  it  will 
be  better  for  you  to  lessen  your  number 
of  horses.  They  are  so  much  more  ex- 
pensive than  mules,  and  my  experience  is 
that  I  have  been  keeping  too  many." 

"Mother!  mother!"  broke  in  Lucien, 
"  I  beseech  you  not  to  worry  yourself  with 
these  details  about  the  plantation.  I  can 
never  manage  as  you  have  done,  but  I 
promise  you  that  I  will  do  my  best,  when- 
ever the  direction  of  affairs  does  fall  into 
my  hands." 

"  I  know  it,  my  son,  I  know  it ;  but 
your  mother  wants  to  help  you,  even  after 
she  is  gone.  Hazlecroft  has  been  a  fine, 
well  regulated  plantation  from  the  time 
Lord  Culpepper  passed  it  over  into  the 
hands  of  the  first  American  Clayborne, 


28  Aunt  Dorothy. 

and  it  must  not  lose  its  high  character 
under  your  management." 

"  It  shall  not,  if  life  and  health  are 
spared  me." 

For  a  little  while  Mrs.  Clayborne  lay 
silent  and  passive,  then,  opening  her  eyes, 
she  fixed  them  with  great  earnestness 
upon  the  face  stooping  over  her. 

"  There  is  another  matter,  my  son,  of 
still  graver  moment,  about  which  I  wish 
to  say  a  few  words.  I  waited  patiently 
during  the  past  year,  hoping  to  see  that 
my  desires  might  be  realized.  But  you 
do  not  readily  commit  yourself ;  it  is  not 
your  way ;  so  that  I  am  altogether  in  doubt. 
For  the  year  and  a  half  during  which  my 
cousin's  orphan  child  has  been  a  member 
of  our  household,  I  have  learned  to  love 
her  sweet  ways  and  bright  presence,  — 
tender,  loving  young  thing  that  she  is,  — 
so  that  now  she  has  come  almost  to  take 
the  place  of  your  dear  sister  Dora,  lost  so 
many  years  ago." 

The  weary  eyes  closed    for  a  few   mo- 


Aunt  Dorothy.  29 

ments,  and  a  tear  trickled  down  the  pale 
cheek.  "  Yes,"  she  whispered,  musingly, 
as  if  to  herself,  "  Dora  would  have  been 
almost  her  age  had  she  lived."  Then 
rousing  herself  somewhat,  and  turning  to 
Lucien,  she  said  :  "  She  has  been  a  daugh- 
ter to  me  in  her  tender  ministrations. 
My  wish  has  long  been  that  she  should 
be  a  daughter  indeed." 

Lucien  gave  a  sudden  start,  as  if  a 
painful  idea  had  been  suggested  to  him. 
"Dear  mother,"  he  pleaded,  "pray  do  not 
seek  to  arrange  Cousin  Annis's  future. 
She  has  no  special  care  for  me,  I  am 
sure.  I  am  only  as  a  cousin  or  brother 
to  her." 

"  That  is  just  your  unobservant  way  of 
looking  at  things,  my  son.  I  've  watched 
Annis  many  a  time  when  you  have  been 
poring  abstractedly  over  those  Greek  books 
of  yours,  and  you  may  depend  a  woman's 
wisdom  outstrips  a  man's  when  she  under- 
takes to  investigate  such  things." 

"But,  mother  —  " 


30  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  Ah,  don't  oppose  my  wishes  in  this 
matter.  You  have  always  reverenced  your 
mother's  opinion,  and  it  would  be  a  bitter 
thing  if  this  desire  of  my  heart  should 
fail  me." 

"  Command  anything,  my  precious  moth- 
er, but  don't  ask  me  to  force  myself  upon 
one  who  has  no  heart  to  give." 

"  No  heart  to  give,  Lucien  ?  Why,  she 
is  all  heart." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  mother." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  she  has  given 
herself  to  some  one  else  ?  You  are  think- 
ing, perhaps,  of  that  college  friend  of 
yours.  Believe  me,  she  cares  nothing  for 
him.  But  promise  me  — 

Here  a  severe  fit  of  coughing  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Clayborne,  and  she  fell  back 
among  her  pillows  in  a  state  of  exhaustion. 
Nurses  and  servants  gathered  around  her, 
and  Lucien  was  about  to  send  off  for 
Dr.  Brune,  when  gradually  the  paroxysm 
passed,  and  she  fell  at  length  into  a  long, 
quiet  slumber. 


Aunt  Dorothy. 


31 


It  was  deep  in  the  night  before  she 
wakened.  When  she  did,  she  turned  her 
eyes  about,  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

"Does  yo'  want  Marse  Lucien?"  asked 


AUNT   ANNEKY. 


Aunt  Anneky,  tenderly.  "  He  's  heah, 
Mistis ;  he  dun  ben  settin'  at  de  h'a'th 
all  de  night." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I   have  not  men- 
tioned,"   Mrs,    Clayborne    made    an   effort 


32  Aunt  Dorothy. 

to  say,  as  Lucien  instantly  came  forward, 
"  and  I  lay  much  stress  upon  it.  When 
I  am  gone,  my  son,  I  want  everything  to 
be  done  to  make  my  death  a  benefit  to  all 
my  poor  people,  to  the  neighbors,  and  to 
our  many  kindred.  Our  house  is  a  large 
one,  and  you  must  have  them  all  here. 
My  dear  Mr.  Holmes  must  come  and  read 
the  service  and  preach  my  funeral  sermon. 
I  wish  him  to  make  it  as  profitable  as  he 
can  to  all  the  hearers.  I  've  had  so  much 
management  and  so  much  care  during  my 
long  widowhood,  that  I  wish  him  to  take 
as  his  text,  'Martha,  Martha,  thou  art 
careful  and  troubled  about  many  things ; 
but  one  thing  is  needful!  Let  him  impress 
that  upon  all  my  friends,  — /  one  thing  is 
needful!  You  must  be  sure  and  have 
your  uncle  Fontaine's  family,  and  your 
aunt  Marshall  and  her  girls,  and  old  Uncle 
Charles  and  my  brother  John  and  his  boys, 
and  the  Graveses,  and  the  rest.  There'll 
be  room  for  all.  The  time  of  year  is  fa- 
vorable too.  The  mutton  and  beef  are  in 


Aunt  Dorothy.  33 

fine  order,  and  Gregory  has  taken  good 
care  of  the  garden — " 

Lucien  interrupted  his  mother,  tenderly 
patting  her  cheek,  and  saying,  "  Every- 
thing shall  be  as  you  wish  ;  only  rest,  and 
trouble  yourself  about  it  no  more." 

"  Marse  Lucien,"  whispered  Aunt  An- 
neky,  as  the  young  man  stood  mournfully 
looking  into  the  glowing  coals,  — "  Marse 
Lucien,  I  am'  b'lieve  Mistis  gwine  gib  up 
yit ;  'pears  ter  me  as  ef  she  cyarn't  let  deff 
hab  de  whip-han'  ob  her,  arter  all." 


III. 

TV  /f  RS.   CLAYBORNE  — or,  as  all   her 

-L*-*-  kindred  and  the  younger  members 
of  the  families  in  her  neighborhood,  in 
the  same  rank  of  life  with  herself,  called 
her,  Aunt  Dorothy  —  was  a  remarkable 
woman  in  her  way,  and  that  way  it  had 
never  happened  to  her  to  have  crossed. 
She  had  been  an  only  child,  and  the  spoiled 
young  mistress  of  her  father's  entire  great 
establishment.  Her  husband,  a  gentle, 
indulgent  man,  had  never  asserted  in  any 
positive  way  his  right  to  rule,  so  that, 
even  when  she  seemed  to  defer  to  his  au- 
thority, she  herself  had  still  been  the  guid- 
ing spirit.  Submission  had  no  part  in 
the  make-up  of  her  character.  That  she 
should  be  obeyed  was  the  accepted  rule  ; 
and  all  points  which  she  established  she 
generally  carried.  Yet  there  was  nothing 


Aunt  Dorothy.  35 

exacting  or  imperious  in  her  manner. 
There  was  a  certain  comicality  about  the 
humorous  way  in  which  she  accomplished 
her  own  ends  that  left  all  who  were  obliged 
to  yield  to  her  in  a  good  humor  in  spite  of 
themselves.  Management  was  her  forte, 
and  Aunt  Anneky  used  to  say :  "  Ef  de 
Lord  want  somebody  ter  manage  in  dat 
neighborhood,  Mistis  'ud  be  de  han'  foh 
Him  ! "  Nevertheless  she  had  a  heart  as 
tender  as  a  child's,  and  servants  and 
neighbors  alike  had  constant  proof  of  her 
thoughtful  kindness  and  generosity ;  and 
Chinquapin  Joe  was  accustomed  to  say 
that  "Ef  de  cat  wid  de  white  tail  do 
scratch  wid  he  paw  sometime,  he  dip  hit 
in  honey ! " 

She  was  a  good  Christian,  and  a  thor- 
ough-going churchwoman ;  and  whenever 
the  number  would  warrant  it,  she  had 
old  Parson  Holmes  to  come  to  Hazlecroft 
and  baptize  all  the  babies  on  the  planta- 
tion. Christenings  were  great  holidays, 
for  a  feast  was  always  prepared  for  all  the 


36  Aunt  Dorothy. 

people  in  the  big  laundry.  She  had  her 
own  ideas  about  the  naming  of  the  black 
children ;  she  thought  by  giving  them 
Scripture  names,  which  she  invariably 
did,  holding  the  right  always  to  name 
them  herself,  she  might  make  some  im- 
pression upon  the  minds  of  parents  and 
youngsters  alike  by  charging  them  to 
remember  that  Abraham,  Joseph,  Moses, 
and  Elijah,  and  all  the  host  of  Bible 
worthies,  were  their  sponsors ;  and  she 
did  not  fail  to  impress  upon  some  of  the 
older  ones  that  these  ancient  saints  had 
some  way  of  keeping  an  eye  upon  them, 
though  they  were  up  in  heaven. 

"Joe,"  she  would  say,  when  complaint 
had  been  made  to  her  that  that  young 
mischief  had  given  a  black  eye  to  his 
brother,  "you  disgrace  your  name-saint; 
the  Bible  Joseph  was  merciful  to  his 
brothers,  even  when  they  behaved  like 
villains  to  him ;  and  see  how  you  treat 
Shadrach  and  Meshach."  Then,  as  she 
exchanged  looks  with  one  of  the  last- 


Aunt  Dorothy.  37 

named  boys,  the  contagious  laugh  would 
shake  the  rotund  little  figure,  taking  all 
the  sting  out  of  the  rebuke,  and  give  room 
for  the  somewhat  impertinent  rejoinder : 
"Den  wat  yo'  call  me  arter  him,  ole 
Mis'?  At  de  nex'  baptizin'  please  let  de 
Pa'son  christen  me  ober  agin,  an'  call  me 
G'liah,  foh  I  be  ebber  so  strong ! "  For 
which  smartness  the  boy  would  not  fail 
to  get  a  tickling  from  the  "  long-tail  white 
cat,"  as  he  had  dubbed  the  little  ivory- 
handled  riding-whip  which  often  hung  at 
his  mistress's  girdle,  along  with  her  bunch 
of  keys.  He  had  borne  his  pseudonym 
of  "  Chinquapin "  from  the  time  he  was 
three  days  old,  when  his  brother  Shadrach, 
on  being  shown  the  baby,  exclaimed,  "  Hi ! 
mammy,  he  got  chinquapin  eyes!  Whar 
yo'  dun  git  chinquapins  dis  time  o'  yeah  ? " 
and  as  there  were  other  Joes  on  the  plan- 
tation, he  was  never  known  by  any  other 
than  this  sobriquet. 

The  mistress  thought  that  the  names  of 
the  Three  Holy  Children  were  exception- 


38  Aunt  Dorothy. 

ally  proper  ones;  consequently  she  had 
distributed  them  among  Aunt  Zinkie's 
boys.  But  as  they  were  hard  to  mouth, 
and  as  Shadrach  was  a  slim  chap,  and 
Meshach  was  always  getting  into  what 
the  negroes  called  a  "  mess,"  and  Abed- 
nego  was  sleepy-headed,  their  cognomens 
resolved  themselves  into  Shad,  Mess,  and 
Bedegoes.  Finding  these  three  lying  on 
the  edge  of  a  cool  spring,  one  day  when 
the  overseer  had  set  them  to  hoeing  corn 
under  a  hot  July  sun,  their  mistress  in  her 
rounds  gave  their  bare  feet  a  little  tingling 
with  the  ubiquitous  whip  :  "  You  disobe- 
dient boys,  why  are  you  here  instead  of  in 
the  cornfield?" 

"  Hit  done  git  so  hot,  ole  Mis',  we  mos' 
burn  up.  'Sides,  we  jes'  'bout  gwine  'gin 
ter  git  ready  ter  go  back ! " 

"  Have  n't  I  told  you  how  the  Three 
Holy  Children  walked  into  the  fiery  fur- 
nace when  God  bid  them  do  it?" 

"But,  ole  Mis',"  said  Shad,  "yo'  read 
'bout  dem  at  pra'rs,  dat  dey  walk  out,  d'out 


Aunt  Dorothy,  39 

a  scotch  on  dey  breeches.  He  Lord,  He 
mus'  a  held  a  numbrel  ober  dem ;  foh  yo' 
might  smell  de  singe  on  we  uns  w'en  we  's 
hoein'  in  de  hot  sun ! "  And  as  the  mis- 
tress walked  away  Shad  added :  "  She  ain' 
mad  at  we  ;  she  larf  too  hard  foh  dat  w'en 
she  tu'n  'way." 


IV. 


AT  an  early  hour  the  next  day  after  our 
story  opens,  Dr.  Brune  rode  briskly 
down  the  avenue  from  the  big  house. 
Aunt  Zinkie  spied  him,  and  ran  from  the 
quarters  to  intercept  him. 

"  Marse  Doctah,  wot  'bout  Mistis  dis 
mornin'  ? " 

"  She  had  a  surprising  turn  in  the  night 
for  the  better,  and  from  all  appearance  I 
am  disposed  to  think  the  crisis  is  past." 

"  Ef  by  de  crishes  yo'  means  ole  Deflf, 
den  tank  de  Lord  dat  he  hab  pass  by  ! " 
and  she  sped  back  as  eagerly  as  she  had 
come,  to  spread  the  news  along  the  quar- 
ters. It  was  received  with  genuine  joy  ; 
for  these  children  of  nature  always  passed 
from  one  extreme  to  another,  and  they  now 


Aunt  Dorothy.  41 

fixed  it  in  their  minds  that  the  recovery  of 
their  mistress  was  an  established  fact. 

4<  I  nebber  b'lieve  nuffin'  else,"  said  old 
Uncle  Dan'el,  scratching  his  gray  wool  ; 
"I  nebber  knowed  de  mistis  gib  up  any- 
t'ing  ;  she  warn't  hank'rin'  arter  de  gold'n 
street,  nohow.  Aunt  Anneky,  she  tell  me 
she  dun  heah  her  talk  ter  Marse  Lucien 
'bout  de  branch  bottom,  an'  de  bosses  an' 
mules,  an'  udder  yearthly  t'ings.  Yo'  see 
she  gwine  kep  de  team  in  han'  yit." 

Lucien  Clayborne,  who  had  been  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  long  piazza,  in  earn- 
est talk  with  Dr.  Brune,  continued  his 
musing  pace  after  the  doctor  had  left  him, 
and  only  paused  as  he  saw  Annis  ascend 
the  .  steps,  with  a  cluster  of  fresh  white 
lilacs  in  her  hand.  She  sprang  eagerly 
forward,  dropping  her  lilacs  into  her  apron, 
and  advancing,  with  a  rush  of  uncontrol- 
lable emotion,  seized  the  hand  that  was  ex- 
tended to  her. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Lucien,  God  be  thanked  ! 
I  've  just  been  talking  with  Dr.  Brune,  and 


42  Aunt  Dorothy. 

he  tells  me  that  there  is  every  chance  that 
Aunt  Dorothy  may  recover." 

"Yes,  God  be  thanked,  Annis,"  rever- 
ently replied  the  young  man,  stooping  at 
the  same  time  and  touching  the  fair  girl's 
forehead  with  his  lips. 

As  she  had  approached  him,  the  slight 
girlish  figure  and  buoyant  air,  wide-open 
blue  eyes  and  flossy  hair,  blown  back  by 
her  rush  through  the  dewy  April  morning, 
made  him  for  a  moment  think  of  Guido's 
Aurora,  for  he  had  been  abroad  with 
his  uncle,  the  professor,  the  year  before, 
and  had  been  fascinated  by  the  picture  in 
the  Rospigliosi  Palace  at  Rome  ;  and  when 
she  came  close  enough  for  him  to  see  the 
moisture  that  overbrimmed  her  clear  eyes, 
he  thought  the  likeness  perfect.  The  sud- 
den touch  of  his  lips  was  something  so 
strange,  so  unusual,  that  the  girl's  face 
was  instantly  flooded  with  a  bright  flush  ; 
but  before  he  had  time  to  linger  over  the 
thought  that  flashed  through  his  con- 
sciousness, between  himself  and  Annis 


Aunt  Dorothy.  43 

seemed  to  pass  the  vision  of  his  friend 
Overton  ;  and  Annis  broke  away  to  her 
aunt's  chamber,  that  she  might  gladden 
her  returning  life  with  the  first  lilacs  of 
the  season. 


V. 


T  UCIEN  CLAYBORNE  was  hand- 
*-il  some  enough  for  any  girl  to  fall  in 
love  with,  with  his  tall,  dignified  figure, 
and  his  air  of  very  formal  yet  high-bred 
courtesy.  His  reticence  and  undemon- 
strativeness  were  extreme,  and  it  gener- 
ally set  a  young  and  bashful  girl  —  for 
thirty-five  years  ago  young  girls  were  more 
shy  and  bashful  than  now  —  into  a  flutter 
to  have  anybody  quite  so  stately  address 
her,  even  with  the  chit-chat  of  ordinary 
conversation,  of  which  small  change,  how- 
ever, Lucien  did  not  carry  much  about 
with  him,  choosing  rather  (as  Addison 
says)  to  "  give  his  check  for  twenty 
pounds."  As  his  mother  had  said,  he  had 
been  poring  over  books  all  his  life,  and 
they  had  perhaps  too  much  absorbed 
him  ;  at  all  events,  he  had  found  his  pleas- 
ure too  exclusively  in  them. 


Aunt  Dorothy.  45 

It  was  not  surprising,  therefore,  that 
no  very  easy  intimacy  ever  had  seemed 
to  grow  up  between  him  and  Annis. 
The  intercourse  of  young  men  and  young 
women  in  these  old  days  was  of  a  much 
more  formal  character  than  now,  and 
the  rigid  rules  of  etiquette  were  held 
in  great  respect  by  Lucien's  fair  young 
cousin.  She  evidently  stood  a  little  in 
awe  of  him,  and  of  the  scholarship  she  had 
often  heard  attributed  to  him,  and  was 
overmuch  impressed  with  a  sense  of  how 
easy  it  would  be  for  him  to  pose  her  on 
any  theme,  —  unless,  indeed,  he  should 
dare  to  intrude  upon  the  domain  of  femi- 
nine accomplishments,  where  she  felt  her 
superiority.  Whose  touch  was  so  delicate 
upon  the  piano  as  hers  ?  Whose  warbling 
outvoiced  the  mocking-bird's  ?  Whose 
fingers  could  sketch  so  gracefully  the 
pretty  bits  of  woodland  scenery  about 
Hazlecroft,  —  the  clump  of  willows  over- 
hanging the  meadow  spring,  the  chinqua- 
pin bower  down  at  the  Wood  Pond,  the 


46 


Aunt  Dorothy. 


long  drive  through  the  overarching  pines, 
that  looked  like  a  cathedral  aisle  ?  Who 
had  such  a  deft  hand  for  imparting  touches 


HER    AUNT'S    EASY-CHAIR. 


of  ornamentation  to  the  somewhat  grand 
old  rooms,  whose  dim  furniture  needed 
just  such  lighting  up  as  she  had  given 
it  ?  For  Annis  never  could  be  for  an 
hour  in  any  apartment  without  leaving 


Aunt  Dorothy.  47 

the  evidence  of  her  presence  behind  her 
in  some  little  arrangement  or  touch, 
that  gave  an  unwonted  effect  and  a  dif- 
ferent aspect  to  the  whole  place.  "But," 
she  sometimes  mused  to  herself,  "  he  sees 
none  of  this.  What  are  women  to  him  as 
compared  with  his  books  ?  They  can't  en- 
joy Theocritus  or  ^Eschylus !  I  doubt  if 
he  would  have  patience  even  with  my  be- 
loved Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  unless 
it  were  with  her  'Prometheus  Unbound,'  — 
though  I  must  not  forget  that  he  did  bring 
me  a  copy  of  her  poems  from  London  last 
year  ;  yet  how  wide  apart  are  our  tastes ! 

" '  I  know  but  matters  of  the  house, 

And  he  —  he  knows  a  thousand  things ! '  " 

It  was  a  soft  evening  in  May,  and  Annis 
was  feeling  very  happy  from  the  more 
rapid  recovery  of  her  aunt  Dorothy.  She 
had  had  her  aunt's  easy-chair  wheeled  up 
to  the  open  window,  which  was  trellised 
over  by  a  wealth  of  old-fashioned  damask 
roses,  whose  odor  filled  the  chamber. 


4#  Aunt  Dorothy. 

Annis  threw  a  cushion  down  at  her  aunt's 
feet  (for  according  to  the  Virginia  habit, 
she  had  always  called  her  relative  "  Aunt 
Dorothy,"  though  in  reality  she  was  only 
the  daughter  of  her  cousin),  and  taking 
her  seat  there,  looked  up  with  her  great 
blue  eyes  full  of  gladness. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Dorothy,  it  is  such  a  joy 
to  think  that  you  are  getting  well,  and 
that  you  will  soon  be  back  in  your  old 
place  again !  The  house  has  been  so 
quiet  and  dull  without  you  !  Miss  Sibylla 
has  done  the  best  she  could  during  your 
long  illness,  and  you  know  I  am  too  young 
to  assume  any  responsibility  as  mistress — " 

"  You  are  not  such  a  child,  my  darling. 
I  was  twenty-three  when  my  blessed  hus- 
band married  me,  and  I  believe  you  are 
not  much  under  that ;  and  he  was  just 
Lucien's  age,  twenty-seven, — a  good  dif- 
ference, I  think." 

Words  like  these,  that  conveyed  a  hint 
of  some  deeper  meaning,  Annis  had  often 
heard  drop  from  her  aunt's  lips  during  the 


Aunt  Dorothy.  49 

year  she  had  been  living  at  Hazlecroft ; 
and  as  she  caught  them  now,  a  deepened 
color  sprang  to  her  cheeks. 

"  I  am  glad,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Doro- 
thy, tenderly,  as  she  stooped  and  kissed 
her  forehead,  from  which  she  smoothed 
back  the  long  loose  curls,  —  "I  am  glad 
that  you  have  some  understanding  of  what 
I  have  in  my  mind.  I  think  your  heart 
is  telling  tales  to  your  cheek.  Do  you 
know,  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  that 
would  give  me  such  content  as  to  see 
you  installed  mistress  of  Hazlecroft  before 
I  go." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Dorothy,  don't  talk  so ;  you 
are  good  for  twenty  years  yet !  " 

"  I  am  not  really  old,  Annis,  as  years 
go ;  but  I  grow  tired  sometimes  of  all  the 
responsibility  that  comes  upon  me.  Think 
of  the  care  of  a  hundred  souls  resting  on 
my  conscience  —  not  to  speak  of  the  care 
of  as  many  bodies  filling  my  hands  !  You 
all  fancy  I  love  management  for  its  own 
sake ;  but  it  is  not  so,  Annis,  —  it  is  not 
4 


50  Aunt  Dorothy. 

so.  It  is  the  sense  of  duty  that  goads  me 
to  such  restlessness.  If  you  were  mistress, 
you  could  share  all  this  with  me.  You 
have  learned  what  a  devoted  son  Lucien 
is  ;  he  would  make  just  as  devoted  — 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,"  interrupted  Annis, 
confusedly,  smothering  her  words  in  her 
aunt's  lap,  "  please  don't  say  anything 
more  about  this ;  such  a  notion  never  en- 
tered Cousin  Lucien's  head  —  " 

"  Or  youra  ? " 

"  Lor'  a  massy ! "  broke  in  Aunt  An- 
neky,  entering  the  chamber  at  that  mo- 
ment. "  Mistis,  yo'  settin'  at  de  open 
windah  dis  time  o'  night  ?  Why,  see,  de 
moon  dun  riz  ober  de  branch  bottom  ;  yo' 
cotch  yo'  deff  o'  cold !  Miss  Annis,  I 's 
s'prised  at  yo'  — "  But  Miss  Annis  was 
not  there  to  hear  the  rest  of  Aunt  Anne- 
ky's  objurgation.  With  a  quick  step  she 
bounded  through  the  long  piazza,  and 
made  her  way  to  her  favorite  garden  nook, 
under  a  great  clump  of  clematis  and  May 
roses,  and  sat  down  to  cool  her  flushed 


Aunt  Dorothy.  51 

cheeks,  and  to  recover  from  the  flutter 
which  her  aunt's  words  had  given  her. 

The  moon  was  well  up  above  the  branch 
bottom,  as  Aunt  Anneky  had  said,  and  it 
bathed  the  whole  old-fashioned  garden  in 
a  tide  of  loveliness  that  made  it  seem  like 
the  Vale  of  Cashmere,  and  this  the  "  Feast 
of  Roses,"-  — not  the  Jacqueminot  and 
Marechal  Niel  and  La  France  of  a  later 
day,  but  the  deliciously  perfumed  damasks 
and  May  roses  and  eglantines  and  sweet- 
briers  and  pure-breathed  Ayrshires,  all 
the  out-of-fashion  tribe  that  used  to  make 
the  formal  gardens  of  old  Virginia  so  fra- 
grant in  the  rose  season. 

Annis  laid  her  arms  across  the  little 
garden  table,  and  rested  her  head  upon 
them.  The  full  moon  flooded  her  with  its 
radiance,  and  a  mocking-bird  near  began 
to  trill,  with  a  low,  delicious  warble,  his 
good-night  song.  The  beauty  and  the 
quiet,  the  fragrance  and  the  music,  soothed 
the  young  girl  strangely,  and  she  sat  there 
long,  feeling  all  the  perturbation  which  the 


52  Aunt  Dorothy. 

expression  of  her  aunt's  wish  had  aroused 
drifting  away. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Dorothy  !  "  she  whispered 
to  herself,  as  she  began  to  think  it  was 
time  to  return  to  the  house.  "  She  thinks 
she  does  n't  love  to  manage,  and  yet  she 
wants  to  control  her  son  in  the  one  mat 
ter  which  of  all  others  in  the  world  should 
be  left  to  his  absolute  freedom.  What  if 
she  should  tell  him  of  her  plan  !  How  it 
would  embarrass  my  life  here !  Perhaps 
she  has  told  him,  and  that  is  the  reason 
he  is  so  curiously  reticent  toward  me. 
Really  Aunt  Dorothy's  gift  for  manage- 
ment is  not  always  wisely  exercised." 

Just  then  there  was  a  swaying  of  a  rose 
branch  near  her,  and  -in  a  pause  of  the 
mocking-bird's  twitterings  she  heard  a 
foot-fall  on  the  gravel.  The  next  moment 
a  hand  was  lightly  laid  on  her  bowed 
head. 

"  What 's  wanting  ?  "  asked  Annis, 
quickly  looking  up.  "  Is  tea  ready,  or 
are  you  afraid  I  '11  take  cold  out  in  the 


NED   GARDEN. 


54  Aunt  Dorothy. 

dew,  and  you  have  come  to   bring  me  a 
shawl?" 

"Neither  —  neither,"  said  Lucien,  a  lit- 
tle impatiently.  "  I  saw  you  fly  off  to  the 
garden  some  half-hour  ago,  and  I  have 
made  a  tour  through  the  three  old  sum- 
mer-houses in  search  of  you." 

"Ah,  Aunt  Dorothy  wants  me.  I  will 
go  at  once." 

"  No,  no ;  my  mother  is  not  needing 
you,  especially  as  you  have  been  spend- 
ing all  the  evening  with  her.  Indeed,  I 
begin  to  be  a  little  jealous  of  her  entire 
absorption  of  you." 

Annis  opened  her  great  blue  eyes  wide 
at  the  admission  ;  it  was  so  odd  for  her 
cousin  Lucien  to  say  anything  of  the 
kind ;  for  he  was  a  man  of  few  words, 
as  has  been  said,  and  in  no  wise  given 
to  compliments. 

"Ah  !"  she  began,  with  a  shy  archness, 
"don't  try  to  make  me  believe  that  any 
woman  of  our  modern  day  could  ever  win 
you  away  from  Andromache,  Iphigenia, 


Aunt  Dorothy.  55 

Medea,  and  the  rest  of  your  Greek 
dames." 

"They  are  charming  enough,  to  be 
sure,  to  read  of.  As  to  having  such  hero- 
ines, with  their  grand  tragic  air,  sitting 
opposite  to  one  at  the  tea  table,  or  being 
one's  companion  over  the  evening  lamp, 
that's  quite  another  matter.  But  since 
you  are  talking  of  Greek  women,  let  me 
ask  you  if  you  recall  the  line  I  made  you 
listen  to  the  other  night  from  Euripides, 
where  Admetus  pours  out  his  love  to 
Alcestis  ? " 

"  I  remember  that  you  asked  me  to  ob- 
serve the  music  of  the  words  as  you  read 
them  in  the  original." 

"/  remember  the  translation,  if  you  do 
not : 

*  If  thou  art  lost  to  me,  life's  joy  is  gone.' 

Annis,"  —  and  Lucien  paused  before  the 
girl  as  if  suddenly  overcome  by  some 
emotion  which  for  the  moment  mastered 
him,  —  "Annis,  pardon  my  abrupt  speech. 


56  Aunt  Dorothy. 

I  know  you  will  think  it  is  but  a  book- 
worm's way  of  putting  it ;  yet  let  me  say 
it:  Annis,  be  my  Alcestis /" 

Annis  had  risen  while  Lucien  was 
speaking,  and  for  a  moment  stood  irreso- 
lute before  him.  Then  lifting  her  hands 
with  a  gesture  of  deprecation,  she  said  in 
a  firm  yet  hurried  voice,  "  No,  no,  no  !  " 
and  brushing  past  the  roses,  fled  fast 
along  the  garden  path,  leaving  Lucien 
alone  in  the  moonlight. 

He  sat  down  with  somewhat  of  a 
stunned  and  vacant  air  upon  the  seat 
from  which  she  had  but  just  risen.  Such 
a  rebuff  was  not  quite  what  he  had  looked 
for,  and  it  took  him  some  little  time  to  re- 
cover his  equanimity.  "  I  was  right,"  he 
said,  half  bitterly  to  himself,  —  "I  was  right 
in  my  conjecture.  I  had  no  business  to 
bring  that  handsome  young  fellow  here, 
with  all  his  magnetic  ways  and  beguiling 
courtesies  and  graces,  such  as  women  love. 
I  was  a  fool  to  think  I  could  hold  my  own 
against  him,  hedged  round  as  I  am  by  my 


Aunt  Dorothy.  57 

stiff  formalities.  Yes,  I  believe  I  am  a 
fool.  I  have  loved  that  sweet  girlish  thing 
almost  ever  since  she  has  been  under  our 
roof.  Her  shy,  dove-like  ways  have  laid 
a  sort  of  spell  upon  me ;  and  yet  I  've  con- 
trived to  conceal  any  special  interest  in 
her,  and  have  disguised  it  all  under  a 
cousinly  coolness,  as  if  I  thought  it  weak- 
ness to  be  entrapped  by  anything  like 
passionate  ardor.  How  often  I  have  sat 
alone  in  the  dark,  out  on  the  piazza,  lis- 
tening to  her  music,  till  it  has  melted  all 
my  reticent  moods,  and  seduced  me  into 
a  womanish  tenderness !  but  I  never  let 
her  know  it  —  not  I.  I  've  doted  over  her 
sweet  tones  and  words  and  her  pretty 
helpfulness,  for  she  has  so  much  of  that 
quality  which  the  Italians  call  simpatica. 
And  yet  I  have  seemed  as  externally  un- 
conscious as  if  I  saw  none  of  it.  Even 
when  I  have  read  some  of  her  favorite 
poets  to  her,  I  have  allowed  the  critic  to 
quash  the  lover.  That  ( No,  no,  no  ! '  of 
hers  has  an  echo  of  one  of  her  songs  in 


58  Aunt  Dorothy. 

it, —  the  one  she  used  to  sing  to  that  soft 
Spanish  air.  Let  me  see  ;  I  think  I  can 
bring  up  the  very  words  of  the  song : 

Hark  !  I  hear  a  mocking-bird 
Underneath  the  moonlight  glow, 
In  the  thicket,  trilling  low,  — 
Strains  that  hold  a  taunting  word 
As  my  fancy  ever  heard, 
For  they  seemed  to  come  and  go : 
"  Love  hath  never  brought  me  woe ; 

No,  no,  no ! 
I  am  only  mocking  so !  " 

Hush  !  I  hear  a  crooning  dove 

Pouring  out  an  overflow 

Of  delicious  throb  and  throe, 

Such  as  thrills  the  soul  of  Love 

When  it  soars  all  doubt  above ; 

But  it  seems  to  warble  low : 

"  Not  for  thee  this  heart-burst,  no  ! 

Ah,  no,  no ! 
I  would  mock  to  tell  thee  so  !  " 

There  is  no  doubt  of  it,  I  have  been  a 
fool !  And  Overton  —  yes,  into  Overton's 
warm-lined  heart  will  flutter  my  escaped 
dove ! " 


VI. 

"  T  HAVE  heard  of  your  mother's  very 
^  serious  illness,  my  dear  fellow,  but  in 
almost  the  same  breath  I  have  been  told 
of  her  marvellous  return  to  life,  so  my 
sympathy  must  give  way  to  congratula- 
tion. Am  I  selfish  in  asking  if  she  is 
sufficiently  recovered  for  me  to  venture 
on  a  week's  visit  to  Hazlecroft  ?  You 
know  I  am  going,  with  a  couple  of  the 
sub-professors  of  our  University  here,  on 
a  geological  exploration  of  our  own  to  the 
Lake  Superior  region,  and  I  have  not  the 
heart  to  leave  home  till  I  Ve  followed  up 
another  research  that  you  wot  of.  I  think, 
Lucien,  that  you  are  about  my  best  friend. 
Can't  you  make  it  easy  for  me  to  come 
down  to  Hazlecroft,  that  I  may  bring  the 
matter  I  have  in  hand  to  a  decisive  point  ? 
I  must  settle  this  question  before  I  go,  for 


60  Aunt  Dorothy. 

the  oscillation  of  mind  which  it  engenders 
unfits  me  for  the  work  that  I  have  set  my- 
self this  summer." 

So  wrote  Lucien's  college  chum,  Rich- 
ard Overton,  a  fortnight  later,  and  this 
quick  response  was  returned:  — 

"By  all  means  come  to  Hazlecroft  just 
when  it  suits  you.  My  mother  is  entirely 
convalescent,  and  will  give  you  cordial 
welcome.  So,  I  doubt  not,  will  my  cousin 
Annis.  If  you  succeed  in  winning  an  en- 
trance into  her  unexplored  heart,  I  guar- 
antee, my  good  friend,  you  will  find  there 
a  mine  of  richer  promise  than  awaits  you 
in  the  region  of  Lake  Superior." 

Within  a  few  days  Mr.  Overton  arrived 
at  Hazlecroft,  —  a  bright-tempered,  gay- 
hearted  young  sub-professor  of  the  Uni- 
versity, the  reverse,  in  all  respects,  in 
appearance,  manner,  and  mental  character- 
istics, of  his  friend  Clayborne.  He  was  a 


Aunt  Dorothy.  61 

fine  talker,  and  full  of  animation,  and  his 
contagious  high  spirits  at  once  imparted 
an  unusual  gayety  to  the  old  mansion. 

Some  three  or  four  days  after  his  arri- 
val, a  group  of  young  negroes  were  lazily 
lying  under  a  clump  of  trees  that  over- 
hung the  well. 

"  Wot 's  de  mattah  wid  yo'  ? "  called  out 
one  of  them,  —  Abednego,  —  as  he  saw 
Chinquapin  Joe  running  along  the  path 
that  led  from  the  carriage-house  to  the 
quarters ;  "  yo'  looks  skeert,  as  ef  yo'  'd 
dun  seed  ole  Sattin ;  an'  hi !  how  yo' 
breeches  be  tor'd  !  " 

"Yo'-alls  be  skeert  too,"  retorted  Joe, 
"ef  yo'  ben  whar  I  ben." 

"  Tell  we-alls  'bout  hit !  "  shouted  a  cho- 
rus of  voices.  "  We  dun  pickin'  chips  now, 
an'  gwine  rest  a  while  onnyhow,  un'er  de 
ole  sycamore  heah,  tell  de  sprinkle  be 
ober." 

Picking  chips  was  an  important  business 
for  the  young  fry.  A  Northern  visitor, 
who  had  seen  a  row  of  barrels  filled  with 


02 


Aunt  Dorothy. 


them  in  the  wood-house,  had  suggested  to 
Mrs.  Clayborne  that  it  would  be  a  great 
saving  of  trouble  if  she  would  have  her 


CHINQUAPIN   JOE. 

wood   sawed,   and  that  it  would   be  more 
convenient  to  split. 

"  Sawed  !  "  she  exclaimed  deprecatingly, 
"  that  would  never  do !  Where  in  the 
world  would  I  find  work  for  the  little 
negroes  ? " 


Aunt  Dorothy.  63 

Chinquapin  Joe  liked  to  hear  himself 
talk,  and  he  was  soon  the  centre  of  a 
gaping  sable  audience. 

u  Yo'  knows  dat  gent'man  wot  corned 
tudder  day  ;  Aunt  Beck,  she  say  he  come 
co'tin'.  I  ax  her  wot  co'tin'  ar' ;  she  gim- 
me cluff  'side  me  head,  an'  tell  me  none 
o'  me  b'isness  ;  so  I  boun'  I  fine  out.  Dis 
ev'nin'  jes  arter  dinnah  be  ober,  Miss  Sib- 
bie,  she  sen'  me  wid  two  cup  o'  coffee  on 
de  leetle  silvah  waitah,  out  ter  de  po'ch,  fer 
Miss  Annis  an'  Marse  Overton  ;  dey  set- 
tin'  'way  at  de  eend  ob  de  po'ch,  jes  whar 
de  honeysuckles  be  thick.  Wen  I  brung 
de  cups  'way,  I  heerd  him  say,  '  Miss  An- 
nis, I  wants  ter  see  dat  seat  o'  yourn  down 
by  de  Wood  PonV  She  say  hit  gwine  ter 
rain  ;  but  he  say,  no,  he  am'  t'ink  so  ;  den 
dey  start  down  de  parf.  I  watch  'em, 
an'  bime-by  some  big  draps  come,  an'  de 
kerridge-house  do'  open,  an'  dey  runs  in  ; 
den  I  takes  me  foot  in  me  han',  an'  slies 
in  at  tudder  side,  an'  creeps  inter  one  ob 
de  kerridge-house  stalls.  Yo'  knows  de 


64  Aunt  Dorothy. 

bosses  an'  kerridge  dun  gone  wid  ole  Mis' 
ober  ter  de  doctab's  dis  mornin',  so  I 
climbs  up  inter  de  stall ;  yo'  knows  't  am' 
planked  up  mor'  'n  a  foot  'bove  de  stall 
troffs,  an'  dat  all  de  pa'tishun  dar  be 
'tween  de  stall  an'  de  kerridge-bouse  flo' 
on  dat  side.  I  'lows  ter  mese'f,  —  now  I 's 
gwine  see  wot  co'tin'  mean. 

"  Den  I  squat  down  in  de  troff,  an'  peep 
trew  de  knot-hole  ;  but  I  cyarn't  see  dem. 
Den  I  lif  me  head  ober  de  edge  ob  de 
plank,  an',  sho'  'nuff,  I  seed  'em  den  settin' 
right  b'low  me  on  de  ole  cuttin'-block,  an' 
he  hab  Miss  Annis'  ban'  in  he  own.  Sho' 
I  listen  peart.  An'  he  say,  '  Miss  Annis, 
dis  sech  a  leetle  ban' !  but  hit  big  'ntiff  ter 
lead  me ! '  Den  Miss  Annis,  she  juk  her 
ban'  'way,  an'  I  heerd  him  say  suffin'  'bout 
'  lub,  tub,  lubl  an'  she  say  '  cyanitl  eber 
so  many  time.  But  de  hens  meek  sech  a 
cacklin'  I  cyarn't  heah  good.  Den  he  say 
de  lub  come  arter  'while,  an'  she  sheck 
her  head,  an'  she  say,  '  no,  fob  she  dun 
try.'  Den  I  leans  ober  furder  ter  see 


Aunt  Dorothy.  65 

whe'er  she  larf  or  cry,  an'  I  be  so  busy 
'bout  hit  I  nebber  heah  de  ole  mar'  Bounce, 
who  *s  allers  squanderin'  herse'f  in  de  pash- 
tah  lot,  —  I  nebber  heah  her  come  inter  de 
stall 't  all ;  an'  she  puts  her  nose  right  in- 
ter de  troff,  an'  dar  she  fine  me  'stid  ob  de 
fodder.  De  fust  t'ing  I  knows,  she  jes 
grab  me  'hine  by  de  breeches  seat,  an'  drap 
me  ober  de  pa'tishun,  right  at  Miss  Annis' 
foot !  " 

"  Sarved  yoj  right,"  roared  out  his  au- 
ditory ;  "dat  wot  yo'  gits  foh  peepin'." 

"  But  Miss  Annis,  wot  she  say  ?  "  asked 
Bedego. 

"I  tell  yo',  ef  she  didn't  screech!  An' 
de  gent'man,  he  sprung  up  like  a  pa'tridge 
w'en  Marse  Lucien  gun  miss  him  in  de 
bresh  ;  an'  I  picks  mese'f  up  an'  gits  off 
fas'  as  a  squer'l  w'en  we  shies  rocks  at  him, 
an'  rocks  him  out  ob  de  chinquapin  bush." 

"An'  ain'  yo'  fine  out  wot  co'tin'  ar' 
now?  "  questioned  Mesh,  sarcastically. 

"  I  ain'  want  ter  know  no  mo'  'bout  hit. 
Ef  dat  ar'  co'tin',  I 's  dun  got  'miff." 


66  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  'T  ain'  wurff  de  lashin'  mammy  gwine 
gib  yo'  fob  gittin'  de  seat  tor'd  out  o'  yo' 
breeches,  nohow,"  shouted  Shad ;  "  't  ain' 
wurf  dat." 

"No,  I  ain'  t'ink  hit  ar',"  was  Josie's 
meditative  reply,  as  he  looked  ruefully 
round  at  his  torn  tow  trousers. 

There  was  great  surprise  expressed  at 
the  breakfast  table  next  morning  when 
young  Overton  announced  his  intention 
of  leaving  Hazlecroft,  where  he  had  only 
been  three  or  four  days. 

"  Why,  you  promised  us  at  least  a  week, 
Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Clayborne,  with  an 
air  of  disappointment.  "  That  is  not  the 
way  to  treat  your  friends.  To  let  you  go 
will  make  Hazlecroft  lose  its  reputation 
for  hospitality." 

"  I  had  expected  to  remain  longer,"  was 
the  somewhat  embarrassed  rejoinder,  "  but 
circumstances  have  caused  a  change  of 
plan,  which  Lucien  can  explain  to  you,  if 
he  sees  fit,  after  I  am  gone.  And  as  Shad 
has  had  my  horse  at  the  door  for  the  last 


Aunt  Dorothy.  67 

half-hour,  I  may  as  well  make  my  adieux 
at  once.  Lucien,  pray  say  good-by  to  Miss 
Annis  for  me  ;  and  I  beg  that  you  will  all 
think  of  me  sometimes  when  I  am  away  in 
the  copper  regions  of  the  Northwest." 

About  a  week  after  Richard  Overton's 
departure,  Chinquapin  Joe  bounced  out 
upon  the  piazza,  and  interrupted  Lucien 
Clayborne  as  he  sat  there  with  his  books 
around  him. 

"  Book,  book  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself 
under  his  breath,  as  he  approached  his 
young  master.  "  What  a  cur'us  man  he  be  ! 
Allers  arter  book,  w'en  he  got  sech  a  fine 
blood  ridin'  hoss  in  de  stable  as  Culpep- 
ah."  Then,  pulling  down  his  jacket  and 
smoothing  his  white  apron,  he  delivered 
his  message :  "  Marse  Lucien,  ole  Mis'  she 
say  she  waitin'  foh  yo'  in  de  chahmbah  on 
some  particklar  b'isness  whar  she  want  ter 
speak  'bout." 

The  young  man  closed  his  books  at 
once,  and  proceeded  to  his  mother's  cham- 
ber. She  had  almost  entirely  recovered 


68  Aunt  Dorothy. 

from  the  effects  of  her  illness,  had  gath- 
ered up  the  reins  of  management  once 
more,  and  was  beginning  to  go  her  daily 
rounds  of  active  supervision.  Her  face 
was  growing  fresh  again,  and  the  little 
rotund  figure  was  filling  out  to  its  usual 
proportions. 

"  My  son,"  she  began,  as  Lucien,  with 
his  deferential  way,  took  a  seat  beside  her, 
"  I  have  reason  to  be  profoundly  thank- 
ful for  the  unexpected  recovery  which  Prov- 
idence has  so  graciously  granted  to  me.  I 
have  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  my 
mind,  and  feel  that  a  suitable  acknowledg- 
ment is  due  for  this  special  mercy.  I  had 
expected,  in  case  of  my  death,  to  have  my 
dear  Mr.  Holmes  preach  my  funeral  ser- 
mon, that  thus  the  occasion  might  be 
improved  for  the  spiritual  good  of  our 
kinsfolk  and  our  neighbors,  but  espe- 
cially for  all  the  servants  of  the  plantation. 
I  still  wish  to  carry  out  my  plan  — 

"  Dear  mother,"  interrupted  Lucien, 
startled  out  of  his  usual  reticence  by  the 


Aunt  Dorothy.  69 

odd  idea,  and  smiling  as  he  spoke,  "  not  a 
funeral  sermon  to  celebrate  your  restora- 
tion to  health  ? " 

"  Certainly  not  a  funeral  sermon,  inas- 
much as  I  shall  be  there  to  hear  it,  but  a 
sort  of  thanksgiving  service.  I  shall  re- 
quest my  dear  Mr.  Holmes  to  use  the  very 
text  I  had  chosen  for  him  to  preach  from, 
in  case  —  " 

"But,  mother  —  " 

"  Make  no  objection,  my  dear  boy ;  I 
have  set  my  mind  upon  it,  and  I  don't  see 
any  reason  why  the  service  should  not  be 
held  much  in  the  same  way  as  it  would  have 
been  had  all  gone  otherwise.  You  know 
Annis  wrote  brief  notes  of  invitation  at 
my  request,  that  night  when  you  expected 
to  close  my  eyes,  to  the  various  families 
whom  I  wished  to  be  here.  I  want  them 
all  to  reap  the  benefit  of  the  lesson  to  be 
learned  from  the  dealings  of  Providence 
with  me  ;  and  so  these  same  invitations 
shall  stand  good  for  next  week.  Let  me 
see  ;  there  's  your  uncle  Fontaine's  family  ; 


70  Aunt  Dorothy. 

they  can  be  put  into  the  two  northwest 
chambers.  Your  aunt  Marshall  and  her 
girls  can  take  the  rooms  opposite ;  my 
brother  John  and  his  two  boys  can  occupy 
the  bedroom  over  the  big  parlor ;  and  old 
Uncle  Charles  —  the  little  hall  room  can 
be  given  to  him.  Sister  Clayborne  and 
Nannie  can  go  into  the  blue  room,  and 
your  aunt  Graves  and  her  husband  will 
fit  nicely  into  the  little  downstairs  cham- 
ber next  my  dressing-room.  I  have  been 
talking  with  Daddy  Jerry  about  the  poultry- 
yard.  He  says  the  spring  chickens  are  in 
fine  force,  and  that  the  two  calves  in  the 
cuppen  are  just  in  right  condition  to  be 
killed.  The  sucking  pigs,  too,  are  in  prime 
roasting  order,  and  there  are  plenty  of 
them.  Gregory  has  been  in  to  bring  his 
reports  about  the  garden  ;  he  tells  me  that 
all  the  early  vegetables  are  in  eating  order, 
and  that  the  berry  crops  will  be  on  in  a 
week  or  so.  So  all  things  seem  to  suit, 
and  I  wish  you  and  Annis  to  reiterate  my 
invitations  to  our  kindred  at  once." 


Aunt  Dorothy.  71 

"But,  mother  dear,  the  entertainment 
of  so  many  people  will  be  a  tax  upon  your 
strength,  which  is  hardly  up  to  its  old 
point  yet." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Miss  Sibylla  is  ener- 
getic in  her  line,  and  is  first-rate  at  cakes 
and  pastry;  I  can  trust  all  that  to  her 
hands.  No,  no ;  it  will  put  life  into  me 
again  to  feel  myself  at  the  head  of  affairs 
and  to  have  everything  moving  on  in  the 
old  brisk  way.  I  've  had  another  plan  in 
my  head,  which  I  wish  you  would  have 
the  patience  to  listen  to  —  But  at  that 
moment  Annis  entered  her  aunt's  cham- 
ber, and  what  the  further  plans  were  did 
not  then  appear. 

As  Uncle  Dan'el  had  said,  the  mistress 
rarely  abandoned  any  design  after  it  had 
once  taken  shape  in  her  mind.  Conse- 
quently arrangements  began  to  be  set  on 
foot  at  once  for  carrying  out  her  scheme 
of  turning  the  anticipated  funeral  service 
into  a  thanksgiving  one.  For  the  next 
week  the  whole  plantation  was  stirred 


72  Aunt  Dorothy. 

with  busy  preparations  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  many  visitors  who  were  ex- 
pected to  share  its  hospitality.  Friends 
from  the  surrounding  neighborhood  were 
invited  to  be  present  for  the  special  day, 
and  Parson  Holmes  was  requested  to  pre- 
pare a  sermon  suitable  to  the  occasion. 
All  the  culinary  skill  for  which  old  Vir- 
ginia housekeepers  were  celebrated  thirty- 
five  years  ago  was  brought  into  requisition, 
and  pantry  and  larder  were  full  to  over- 
flowing of  every  sort  of  cate  and  delicacy. 
An  ancient  silver  service,  which  had  once 
been  used  at  Thorsway  by  Lord  Culpep- 
per's  family  (from  whom  Mrs.  Clay  borne 
prided  herself  on  being  descended),  was 
brought  out  from  the  old  oaken  chest, 
where  it  had  lain  ever  since  the  death  of 
the  master  of  Hazlecroft,  and  was  made  to 
shine  with  a  brilliancy  to  which  for  many 
a  year  it  had  been  a  stranger.  Old  china 
was  produced  from  buffets  where  it  had 
been  long  locked  up.  Old  furniture  was 
waxed  till  it  shone  like  a  mirror,  and  the 


Aunt  Dorothy. 


73 


oaken  floors  of  parlors,  chambers,  halls, 
and  stairways  were  polished  till  it  became 
a  perilous  feat  to  walk  over  them. 


NCLE   DAN'EL. 


"  I  'clar',"  cried  Aunt  Becky,  one  of  the 
older  house-maids,  lifting  her  hands  at  the 
sight  of  so  much  preparation,  —  "I  'clar' 
folks  mought  'low  dar's  gwine  be  awed- 


74  Aunt  Dorothy. 

din5,   'stid   ob    a    fun'ral    sarvice,    in    dis 
house ! " 

Matters  were  all  in  a  state  of  readiness, 
and  the  day  came  for  the  guests  to  arrivq. 
Annis  had  been  exceedingly  busy  through 
all  its  hours  in  the  great  old  parlor,  impart- 
ing to  it  that  air  of  brightness  of  which 
she  held  the  secret.  Fresh  lace  curtains 
had  been  hung  at  the  windows ;  the  covers 
were  taken  from  the  old  portraits.  No 
one  at  Hazlecroft  could  remember  ever 
having  seen  the  yellow  muslin  removed 
from  the  frame  above  the  mantel-piece 
that  held  the  picture  of  the  Baron  of 
Thorsway,  Lord  Thomas  Culpepper ;  but 
Annis  had  leave  to  strip  it  off.  The  fur- 
niture was  pulled  about,  rubbed,  and  ar- 
ranged in  more  modern  fashion.  Every 
table  was  loaded  with  vases  of  flowers  till 
the  great  room  was  redolent  of  June.  The 
old-time  sconces  were  brightened  up  and 
filled  with  real  wax  candles.  The  "  Cul- 
pepper chair,"  Aunt  Dorothy's  peculiar 
treasure,  because  it  had  been  brought  over 


Aunt  Dorothy.  75 

from  Thorsway  by  Lord  Culpepper  him- 
self, had  a  fresh  covering  of  rosebud  dot- 
ted chintz  draped  over  the  ancient  yellow 
damask,  and  was  drawn  up  to  one  of  the 
windows,  with  a  stool  placed  before  it, 
ready  for  the  occupation  of  the  mistress. 
The  four  windows  of  this  great  parlor 
opened  to  the  floor  upon  the  wide  piazza 
which  extended  the  whole  length  of  the 
mansion. 

Annis  had  taken  her  last  look  at  the 
various  rooms  to  see  that  all  was  in  readi- 
ness before  she  went  to  dress  for  the  even- 
ing. This  duty  was  quickly  done,  for  in 
half  an  hour  she  came  down,  attired  in  a 
simple  white  muslin  gown,  with  not  an  or- 
nament about  her  save  a  cluster  of  fresh 
roses  on  her  bosom.  Lucien  was  sitting 
in  the  library  as  she  passed  him  on  her 
way  to  the  old  drawing-room.  He  looked 
up  with  a  bright  smile,  slapped  the  volume 
he  had  been  reading  together,  and  said  to 
himself,  "  Aurora !  — if  she  would  but  bring 
the  dawn  into  the  border  of  the  dusk!" 


76  Aunt  Dorothy. 

But  Annis  did  not  hear  him  as  she  tripped 
lightly  on  into  the  apartment  beyond.  It 
looked  dim  and  empty  as  the  twilight 
began  to  fill  its  corners  ;  but  she  sought 
out  a  sofa  in  a  remote  recess,  where  there 
was  a  window  looking  toward  the  west, 
and  threw  herself  down  to  rest  for  a  few 
moments  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day. 
She  had  not  lain  there  very  long  before 
she  heard  a  step  near  her,  and  found 
Lucien  was  drawing  a  chair  quietly  to  the 
side  of  her  sofa.  She  sprang  up  to  take 
her  seat  primly,  as  all  maidens  were  ex- 
pected to  do  in  those  old-fashioned  times  ; 
but  a  detaining  hand  was  laid  on  her  bare 
arm. 

"  Rest  yourself,  Annis,"  he  said,  "  for  you 
will  be  tired  enough  before  the  late  din- 
ner is  over.  I  have  just  seen  my  mother 
go  off  into  a  comfortable  nap  ;  and  now 
I  have  come  to  quiet  you.  Do  you  know, 
Annis,  there  seems  to  me  something  a 
little  amusing  in  this  '  funeral  service,'  as 
the  servants  will  persist  in  calling  it.  I 


Aunt  Dorothy.  77 

hear  them  bandying  words  constantly  about 
it,  always  calling  it  '  Ole  Mis'  Ftm'ral.' 
Even  the  neighbors  have  been  making  a 
joke  of  it ;  and  it  has  annoyed  me  some- 
what." 

"Don't  let  it  do  that,  Cousin  Lucien," 
rejoined  Annis,  in  her  bright  way,  for  she 
had  a  knack  of  always  smoothing  down 
difficulties  ;  "  everybody  understands  Aunt 
Dorothy,  and  it  will  pass  off  beautifully, 
I  'm  sure." 

"  We  might  make  it  pass  off  much  more 
beautifully ;  you  could  help  me  do  it, 
Annis." 

"  How,  pray  ?  I  am  ready  to  do  any- 
thing reasonable." 

Lucien  looked  down  for  a  moment  at 
the  hand  that  he  had  taken  within  his  own, 
and  drew  his  finger  in  a  sort  of  meditative 
way  along  the  tracery  of  its  blue  veins. 

"  Suppose,  then,"  he  said,  looking  up  at 
her  inquiringly, —  "  suppose  we  adopt  a 
German  fashion  for  the  nonce.  It  seems 
very  reasonable,  —  to  me  at  least.  Suppose 


78  Aunt  Dorothy. 

we  make  it  the  occasion  of — of  our  be- 
trothal, Annis?" 

Annis  started  up,  with  a  quiver  from 
head  to  foot,  then  sank  back  again  upon 
the  sofa  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
As  Lucien  quietly  watched  her  he  saw  a 
tear  trickle  from  between  the  white  fingers 
and  fall  upon  the  cluster  of  roses  upon  her 
bosom.  Touching  his  lips  to  the  roses,  he 
began  in  a  soft,  low  tone,  — 

"  You  said  no  to  me  once,  Annis ;  and 
under  the  impression  that  you  did  so  be- 
cause your  heart  was  going  out  toward 
another,  I  accepted  your  decision  as  best 
I  might,  and  crushed  back  into  my  own 
heart  all  its  love  and  its  longings.  Over- 
ton  let  me  know  that  I  was  mistaken  ;  and 
now  —  now  have  you  not  discovered  that 
under  the  seeming  snow  of  my  too  cold 
exterior  there  are  volcanic  fires  of  which 
you  never  heretofore  have  dreamed  ?  Have 
you  not  come  to  know  that  I  love  you  ? 
May  I  not  tell  you  now  that  the  heart  never 
before  willing  to  own  itself  touched  by  a 


Aunt  Dorothy.  79 

woman  was  conquered  by  my  little  cousin 
before  she  had  been  two  months  in  our 
midst?" 

Annis  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  he  said  pas- 
sionately, drawing  her  hands  from  her  face, 
and  clasping  them  closely  between  his  own. 
"  If  I  am  not,  let  me  hold  this  hand  now 
and  —  ever." 

Annis's  hand  was  not  withdrawn. 

A  half-hour  later  carriage  wheels  were 
heard  coming  up  the  avenue. 

"  One  word  more,"  said  Lucien,  "  before 
you  go  to  meet  our  guests.  Why  did  you 
say  no  to  me  so  vehemently  that  evening 
six  weeks  ago  under  the  clematis  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  embarrassed  pause  be- 
fore Annis  spoke.  "Because," — and  the 
scarlet  flashed  along  her  cheek  again,  — 
"because  I  believed  you  were  merely 
obeying  Aunt  Dorothy's  wish,  which  you 
thought  to  be  a  dying  one." 

"And  what  did  you  know  of  Aunt 
Dorothy's  wish  ? " 


8o  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  Ah  !  "  —  she  smiled  archly  —  "  is  Aunt 
Dorothy  ever  able  to  keep  anything  to 
herself?  Besides,  Aunt  Anneky  caught 
up  part  of  the  conversation  between  her 
and  yourself,  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
with  a  servant's  love  for  gossip,  she  did 
not  fail  to  repeat  some  of  it  to  me  the  very 
next  day.  Do  you  wonder  that  under  your 
mother's  exaction  of  obedience  on  your 
part,  I  said  no  ?  But  here  comes  Uncle 
Sharon  to  light  the  candles,  and  I  do 
believe  I  hear  Uncle  Fontaine's  voice ; 
his  travelling  carriage  is  stopping  at  the 
steps."  And  she  broke  away  to  receive 
the  coming  guests. 


VII. 

'"PHE  invited  guests  were  all  in  their 
•*•  places  in  the  great  pa'rlor,  through 
whose  open  windows  the  afternoon  sun 
came  gayly  streaming.  The  company  from 
the  neighboring  plantations,  together  with 
the  guests  in  the  house,  so  filled  the  room 
that  there  was  only  space  for  the  house 
servants  to  be  admitted  ;  but  the  planta- 
tion hands  were  gathered  on  seats  close 
around  the  windows,  it  being  a  strenuous 
point  with  their  mistress  that  they  should 
all  be  near  enough  to  hear.  Aunt  Dorothy 
was  established  in  the  ancient  "  Cul pepper 
chair,"  dressed  in  her  black  satin  gown, 


82  Aunt  Dorothy. 

with  a  lace  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoul- 
ders. Her  quick  black  eyes  sparkled  with 
an  unusual  gladness,  and  her  jolly  little 
figure  shook  every  now  and  then  with  sup- 
pressed laughter  as  some  one  of  the  little 
pickaninnies  arranged  near  her  nodded  and 
tumbled  off  his  stool.  The  "  cat  tail,"  to 
which  Chinquapin  Joe  was  so  fond  of  al- 
luding, lay  at  her  side,  ready  to  tickle  any 
mischievous  imp  who  might  be  found  run- 
ning straws  into  the  ear  of  his  next  neigh- 
bor, or  pulling  from  under  him  the  stool  of 
some  little  chip-picker  who  was  sure  to  go 
to  sleep  during  the  constrained  quiet. 

Annis  flew  in  and  out  in  her  bird-like 
way,  and  finally  settled  herself  behind  a 
curtain,  where  she  was  well  hidden  from 
view.  Somehow  she  felt  as  if  the  service 
would  be  rather  an  upsetting  thing.  Lu- 
cien  hovered  about  in  his  silent,  stately 
way,  distributing  his  high-bred  courtesies 
among  the  many  guests.  A  claw-footed 
table,  as  black  as  ebony  with  age,  was 
placed  for  Parson  Holmes,  before  which, 


Aunt  Dorothy.  83 

in  his  surplice,  he  took  his  place,  and 
began  to  read  the  evening  service  with 
becoming  solemnity. 

As  Aunt  Dorothy  had  made  it  a  point 
that  her  old  head  cook,  Mammy  Rachel, 
should  get  a  little  of  the  spiritual  benefit 
of  the  occasion,  she  had  insisted  that  for 
half  an  hour  she  should  intrust  the  soups, 
roasts,  and  stews  to  "  Brudder  Joe,"  her 
culinary  assistant.  Consequently,  as  one 
of  the  collects  was  being  read,  Mammy 
Rachel,  who  was,  as  cooks  are  apt  to  be, 
of  elephantine  proportions,  came  purring 
up  the  piazza  steps  as  the  crowd  outside 
made  way  for  her  to  a  seat  near  her  mis- 
tress. By  the  time  Mammy  Rachel  was 
well  settled,  and  had  smoothed  down  her 
fresh  white  apron,  and  all  the  youngsters 
were  reduced  to  order  and  quietness  again, 
Parson  Holmes  was  ready  to  begin  his 
discourse. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  gravely  looking 
round  on  his  audience  before  him,  "the 
occasion  on  which  we  have  met  together 


84  Aunt  Dorothy. 

has,  through  God's  mercy,  turned  out  to 
be  a  thankful  instead  of  a  mournful  one, 
as  a  few  weeks  ago  was  so  sorrowfully 
anticipated.  But  wishing  to  draw  in- 
struction and  warning  from  the  memory 
of  the  solemn  time  upon  which  she  still 
looks  back,  she  who  has  been  the  subject 
of  this  gracious  interposition  desires  that 
the  same  text  which  she  had  selected  for 
her  obsequies  should  be  used  in  this  ser- 
vice of  thanksgiving,  '  Martha,  Martha, 
thou  art  careful  arid  troubled  about  many 
things ;  but  one  thing  is  needful' "  He 
then  went  on  to  expatiate  on  the  responsi- 
bility which  necessarily  devolved  upon  the 
mistress  of  a  great  household,  skilfully  de- 
fending the  character  of  Martha,  and  show- 
ing that  she  was  in  the  line  of  her  duty, 
even  though  she  was  "cumbered"  by  it, 
and  that  perhaps  she  was  serving  the 
Master  just  as  really  as  the  introspective 
and  meditative  Mary.  No  doubt  she  too 
would  like  to  have  sat  at  her  Lord's  feet; 
but  then  who  would  have  looked  after  the 


Aunt  Dorothy.  85 

temporal  wants  of  the  Master  and  His  dis- 
ciples ?  She  perhaps  loved  her  Lord  no 
less  than  her  unpractical  and  quieter  sister. 
It  was  not  for  what  she  was  doing  that  the 
Master  reproved  her  in  this  gentle  way, 
but  for  the  spirit  of  fretfulness  she  mani- 
fested in  the  doing  of  it.  Hers  was  the 
less  pleasant  duty,  and  it  was  to  her  credit 
that  she  was  performing  it  so  efficiently. 
No  doubt  it  would  have  been  accepted  as 
fully  as  Mary's  service  if  it  had  been  done 
with  as  serene  and  heavenly  a  temper. 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  the  preacher 
meant  that  Martha  should  stand  as  an  im- 
personation of  the  mistress  of  Hazlecroft ; 
for  even  Chinquapin  Joe  understood  the 
allusions,  and  nudged  Shad  two  or  three 
times,  with  his  stage-whisper,  —  "  Dat  's  jes 
like  ole  Mis' !  " 

It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon  the 
suitable  application  given  to  the  second 
portion  of  the  text.  When  the  closing 
sentence  was  reached,  —  "  And  now  I  call 
upon  all  kindred  and  neighbors  present  to 


86  Aunt  Dorothy. 

unite,  at  her  desire,  with  our  dear  friend 
who  sits  at  my  right  hand,  in  thanksgiving 
to  Almighty  power  for  the  happy  transition 
from  sickness  to  health,  from  anxiety  to 
gratitude,  from  the  borders  of  the  grave  to 
the  light  and  joy  of  a  new  lease  of  life,"  — 
the  minister  turned  and  stretched  his  arm 
toward  the  old  "  Culpepper  chair  ;  "  but 
the  chair  was  empty !  The  thanksgiving 
had  to  go  on  amid  the  half-smiling  faces 
of  the  whole  audience,  without  the  one  to 
join  in  it  who  was  the  occasion  of  it  all. 

Aunt  Dorothy  had  always  done  the 
thinking  for  the  whole  establishment ;  and 
now  that  there  were  to  be  thirty  guests  to 
dine,  and  more  than  twice  that  number  of 
her  people  to  be  feasted  in  the  big  laundry, 
was  it  any  wonder  this  Martha  was  "  cum- 
bered about  so  much  serving "  ?  Was  it 
surprising  that  the  beckoning  finger  of 
Miss  Sibylla,  the  housekeeper,  should 
have  conveyed  a  summons  that  drew  her 
to  the  edge  of  the  piazza  for  a  brief  collo- 
quy during  the  pause  that  ensued  before 


Aunt  Dorothy.  87 

Parson  Holmes  uttered  his  final  sentence  ? 
As  the  silent  prayer  was  being  said  at  the 
close  of  the  service,  Aunt  Dorothy  was 
back  again  and  on  her  knees  ;  and  when 
the  final  "  Amen "  was  uttered,  she  was 
ready  to  join  heartily  in  it,  under  the  full 
persuasion  that  nobody  had  noticed  her 
absence. 

All  the  guests  and  kinsfolk  came  for- 
ward with  kisses  and  congratulations  ;  and 
the  mistress's  bright  eyes  brimmed  over 
with  happy  tears,  while  her  face  beamed 
with  smiles  as  she  received  them.  "  It  was 
worth  while  to  be  ill,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  voice  broken  through  emotion, —  "it  was 
more  than  worth  while  to  step  almost  upon 
my  grave,  to  have  my  friends  made  so  glad 
by  my  recovery  !  " 

Not  to  be  outdone  by  kinsfolk  and  neigh- 
bors, Uncle  Sharon,  the  head  waiter  of  the 
dining-room,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to 
set  the  example  to  the  house  servants  by 
some  suitable  congratulation.  In  his  pom- 
pous way  he  advanced  to  the  front  of  his 


88  Aunt  Dorothy. 

mistress's  chair,  after  the  company  were 
through  with  their  salutations,  and  bowing 
his  grizzly  head  low,  with  a  dramatic  wave 
of  the  hand,  he  said,  "  De  Lord  be  praise, 
whar  made  de  Mistis  fun'ral  tu'n  out  so 
beautiful ;  de  Lord  be  praise  foh  sech  a 
libely  co'pse  on  dis  'casion ! " 

Uncle  Reuben,  as  plantation  preacher, 
felt  called  upon  to  offer  a  greeting  on  be- 
half of  the  out-door  servants.  Accordingly 
he  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and 
taking  the  hand  of  his  mistress  between 
his  own  hard  black  ones,  he  said  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  feeling,  while  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks :  "  T'ank 
God,  Mistis !  We  'ceives  yo'  back  in  an- 
swer ter  pra'r.  We  'lowed  we  hab  mo' 
need  foh  yo'  heah,  ter  manage  dis  big 
plantashun,  dan  de  angels  hab  foh  yo'  up 
in  hebben,  whar  dar  be  no  managin'  ter  do. 
De  good  Lord,  He  knows  dat,  an'  He  dun 
t'ink  so  too  ;  an'  we  praise  Him,  —  dat  we 
do  ! "  From  the  crowd  on  the  piazza,  press- 
ing about  the  windows,  came  back  the 


Aunt  Dorothy.  89 

echo,  "  Dat  we  do  !  Dat  we  do  !.  Amen  ! 
Amen ! "  while  hands  clapped,  and  tears 
glistened  on  many  a  sable  face. 

Chinquapin  Joe  was  the  very  last  to 
come  forward  ;  but  he  meant  to  express 
his  thanks,  for  he  was  in  a  very  grateful 
frame  of  mind.  His  mouth  had  been 
watering  all  through  the  service  in  antici- 
pation of  the  grand  feast  that  was  to  be 
spread  for  all  the  plantation  hands  in  the 
big  laundry.  He  knew  of  the  roast  pigs, 
for  he  had  helped  to  catch  them  ;  he  knew 
of  the  ducks  and  chickens,  for  he  had 
helped  to  run  them  down  ;  he  knew  of  the 
gooseberry  pies,  for  he  had  pricked  his 
fingers  in  helping  to  gather  the  berries ; 
and  with  a  swelling  of  heart  that  was 
bound  to  force  itself  into  utterance,  he 
cried  out,  as  he  grasped  the  hand  of  his 
mistress,  "  Yes,  de  good  Lord  be  t'anked 
ober  an'  ober  agin  !  an'  please  gib  ole  Mis 
jes  seek  a  gran'  fun'ral  ebbery  yeah  !  " 

The  wax  lights  in  the  sconces  were  well 
burned  down   before  the  long  dinner  was 


THE   CULPEPPER   CHAIR, 


Aunt  Dorothy.  91 

over  and  the  guests  had  returned  to  the 
great  parlor.  As  those  from  the  neigh- 
boring plantations  had  to  go  six,  eight, 
and  even  ten  miles  to  their  homes  (for  ten 
miles  is  neighborhood  in  old  Virginia),  that 
portion  of  the  company  had  necessarily  to 
break  up  early.  But  before  any  had  taken 
their  leave,  Aunt  Dorothy  arose  from  her 
chair,  and  with  a  little  rap  upon  the  table 
before  her,  intimated  that  she  had  a  few 
words  to  say  before  they  should  go. 

"  I  heartily  thank  you,  my  dear  friends," 
she  began,  winking  back  the  moisture  that 
was  always  so  ready  to  film  her  eyes,  —  "I 
heartily  thank  you  for  your  presence  with 
me  on  this  occasion  of  thanksgiving,  and 
for  all  your  kind  congratulations  and  good 
wishes/  But  to  do  away  from  your  minds 
any  lingering  associations  that  may  still 
link  the  solemn  season  in  which  the  occa- 
sion originated  and  the  present  fulfilment 
of  it,  I  have  arranged  my  plans  to  bind  it 
more  closely  Vith  another  memory,  which 
shall  hold  in  it  nothing  but  joy.  The 


92  Aunt  Dorothy. 

friends  who  are  guests  in  my  house  know 
to  what  I  allude.  Mr.  Holmes,  our  good 
rector  here,  will  convey  to  my  neighbors 
who  have  been  with  me  to-day  my  further 
wishes." 

Parson  Holmes  arose  as  Mrs.  Clayborne 
took  her  seat,  and  in  his  formal  way.  and 
with  an  emphatic  clearing  of  his  throat, 
as  if  he  were  giving  out  a  church  notice, 
said,  — 

"  I  am  requested  by  Mistress  Dorothy 
Clayborne  to  extend  to  the  kind  friends 
and  neighbors  who  have  assisted  at  the 
thanksgiving  service  of  to-day  an  invita- 
tion to  be  present  at  Hazlecroft  a  fortnight 
hence,  Wednesday,  28th  of  June,  at  four 
o'clock  P.  M.,  on  the  occasion  of  the  mar- 
riage of  her  ward,  Annis  Fontaine,  to  her 
son,  Lucien  Thorsway  Clayborne." 


THE   END. 


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i 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9   572755 

PS2662 

Preston,  M.J.  A85 

Aunt  Dorothy.          1890 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


